Sweenett Fanfictions
by TADTD
Summary: Our beloved demon barber of Fleet Street is sent M-Rated Sweenett Fanfictions in a series of letters. How will he find out who is writing these stories and how will it effect his and Mrs Lovett's lovelife? A re-write of a FanFic I wrote two years ago.
1. The First Letter

It really did satisfy him. Sliding his silver razor across the vulnerable, bare throat of another one of his unfortunate customers and watching them take their very last breath. He liked the thought of their families being taken away from them, just like his had those many years ago. He liked the control; watching them hit the cold, hard floor of the baker house with a crack gave him some sort of cruel, sick pleasure. However, it didn't satisfy him enough and he wouldn't be completely satisfied until he had his revenge. He thought about it a lot; how he would lure the loathsome Judge back to his shop and what he would say to him before he slit the man's neck. He wanted to drag it out, definitely. He wanted to watch Turpin realise that he was that innocent, virtuous young man he nonchalantly sent away all of those miserable years ago. He wanted him to know that he was the one who did this. He was the one who caused this previously honourable man to now be the murderous serial killer he is. The sound of the barber shop bell quickly snapped him out of his forlorn, miserable thoughts. He decided that this would be his last customer for the day; the shop had been busy and he was somewhat pleased with the money he had made.

After the customer was down the chute and ready to be made into one of Lovett's infamous meat pies, he flipped the open sign on the door to 'closed' and went back to his window to resume with his brooding. He glared at the people outside, walking down gloomy Fleet Street with their happy families. He would give anything to have his family back. His Lucy and his Johanna.

"Sir?" Came a small voice from the shop door. Sweeney inwardly groaned, not looking away from the window. He knew who it was. That damn boy Mrs. Lovett insisted that she should keep.

"What do you want, boy?" He asked, although not sounding interested in the slightest. He was just like Mrs. Lovett as well, entering without knocking and not waiting for permission to come in.

"I've got a letter for you," he answered. Sweeney frowned, turning around and looking at him. He never usually got letters at all.

"Who is it from?"

"I don't know, sir," he said with a shrug, handing it to the barber. Sweeney dismissed Toby from the shop with a small nod, before frowning down at the letter.

He stayed stood up, reading the top of the thin piece of parchment. He didn't recognise the handwriting at all, and a large part of him hoped that it was from Judge Turpin, telling him that he would soon stop by for a shave. However, he realised that there was no name of the sender at the bottom. He furrowed his brow. Why would the letter be anonymous? After a few seconds of questioning thoughts, he slowly read the first paragraph.

_"Dear Mr. S. Todd,_

_ This letter is a story. Not just any story, either. This letter is a FanFiction. A Sweenett FanFiction, to be precise. I hope that you enjoy this story, it has been worked very hard on by myself and took quite a while. It is about you and a certain baker who lives just below your shop. It is a story about what happens when your room becomes infested and you end up having to share a room with her. Rated M."_

Sweeney frowned a lot. More than he had been frowning before. Who the hell would write stories about him and his accomplice?! Who even knew enough about them to do such a thing? What did 'Rated M' mean? And, his shop had never been infested with anything! He considered putting the letter down right then, and storming down to Mrs. Lovett to ask her about it. Although curiosity managed to get the better of him, and he ended up sitting down in his barber chair, reading the letter.

The story wasn't bad at first. It was written quite well, and started with an enraged (and very in-character) Sweeney storming downstairs to the pie maker to tell her about the pesky insects. However, about ten minutes into reading it, a redness had crept it's way across his cheeks, which was a massive contrast compared to his usual ghost-white complexion.

"I put my what _where_?!" He asked himself, reading with his eyes wide at the absurdity. It definitely wasn't something that had ever happened, and the idea of it was preposterous.

"Oh my god," he muttered, his lips dry and slightly parted. He seemed to be reading a very dirty and very explicit story about him and Mrs. Lovett. He had never read anything like this before- he had never wanted to! He carried on reading, though. Not even thinking to stop. After a while, he had finished the bottom line, and was staring blankly at the parchment. He wasn't as angry as he probably should of been. Did he _like_ reading it?

'No, of course not!' He thought to himself, going over the story-line in his head. He slumped down in his chair, rubbing his forehead with his hand. Although he hadn't asked to read this vile piece of fiction, he really did feel guilty. He knew that he should of stopped as soon as he knew what it was about. 'What happens when your shop becomes infested and you end up sharing a room with Nellie.' Of course that inferred something erotic. And, who the hell would right this anyway? He knew that it wasn't Toby, the boy was about ten years old for heaven's sake! Anthony was definitely too... upstanding to have written it. The only other person who he could think of was Mrs Lovett herself!

He groaned, shaking his head to himself and hoping that this was some kind of weird dream. But, no. He knew that this was real life and he knew that somebody had written a downright explicit story about him and his landlady. He got up, throwing the letter into the old chest in the corner of the room. He had some questions that needed to be answered. He left his shop, hastily going to Mrs Lovett's. When he entered, he saw that she was sat down at one of the shop tables with Toby, two tumblers of gin and a bottle in-between them. They both looked at him, quickly going silent. Mrs. Lovett looked quite dumbfounded. He hardly ever came downstairs at all, what could he possibly want?

"I need to talk to you," said Sweeney, not sounding as threatening as usual. He inwardly kicked himself, realising this. He swallowed, starting to feel his face become hotter than usual.

"About what?" Asked Mrs. Lovett, smiling at him. Fortunately, she didn't seem to notice. Sweeney didn't move, narrowing his eyes slightly and thinking. He didn't want to say anything about the content of the letter, he just wanted to know if she had been the one who had written it.

"Erm, have you sent any letters recently?" He asked, watching her carefully.

"No, I don't think I have, love," she frowned, "why do you ask?" she said, tilting her head slightly. He tried to find any indication that she was lying on her face, but failed. Sweeney ignored her question and glanced at Toby, who was looking at him with as much confusement as she was.

"Right," he said, looking away in thought.

"Are you alright?" She asked him, still frowning slightly. He grunted in response, turning around and leaving again.

Their short conversation made it seem like she hadn't written the letter, which was quite surprising to him. Who else could have done?

''Or maybe, perhaps, she was lying?'' He asked himself, climbing the cold, metal steps to his shop.

When he got back he halted right at the door, looking at the floor in front of him.

It was another letter.

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><p><strong>Yes, this is a re-written Fanfiction that I wrote over a year ago. I know that lots of people where against it, but I deleted the last one because I think that this version is written better and makes more sense. As much as I understand, please try not to complain.<strong>

**I decided to change to laptop to actual letters, as well.**

**This will be updated every weekend until it is finished, I promise you. (I hope I won't regret writing that)**

**If you want, leave a review of what you would like to see happen or what you liked most. I love reading them :)**

**Follow my Sweeney Todd roleplay account on Twitter: BloodAndRazors**

**Follow my Sweeney Todd roleplay account on : SweeneyyyToddd**


	2. Complete Awkwardness

The following days were particularly awkward, of course. Whenever Mr Todd left the shop, he always came back to find another letter waiting for him; he still didn't know who was writing them! He had only read that first FanFiction that he had been sent. The old chest in the corner of the shop that once contained that dreadful Italian's dead body now contained a small pile of fictional erotica. Did the writer even expect him to read them all?

Now, he couldn't even look at Mrs Lovett without turning a furious shade of red, and had resorted to avoiding her as much as possible.

''Is everything alright, love?'' She asked him one morning, when taking up his breakfast, ''you seem to be ignoring me even more that usual,''

''I'm fine,'' he growled, trying to distract himself from her by glaring at everyone and anyone who were walking outside of his window, not wanting to face her.

''Well, if you say so,'' she muttered, leaving the breakfast tray on the vanity and turning to walk back out of the door.

He needed to get more information out of her at some point. He would have to find out if the sender was sending her the same letters as well...

''Erm, Mrs Lovett?'' He called after her, but only just loud enough for her to hear. He finally turned around to face her.

''Yes, Mr T?'' She asked, turning back to him. She frowned at how uncomfortable he looked.

''I know that you haven't sent any letters recently, but, h-have you been sent any letters?'' He asked her, quietly.

''What?'' She was confused. She had never, ever heard the demon barber of Fleet Street stutter and why would he even care about who she was talking to?

''You heard me,''

''Erm, yes. Why do you care?'' She asked, her head slightly tilted.

''Who has been sending you letters?'' He replied, impatiently, not answering

her question. He was very worried, now.

''My friends. You may not have a social life, but I certainly do, Mr T," she answered, frowning slightly.

''Oh, never mind,'' he said, resigned and turning back to the window, dismissing her insult. He knew that he probably wouldn't get any more answers..

"Alright then,'' she said with a shrug, turning around and making her way back to her own shop.

Sweeney scowled after she had gone and began pacing at his shop window. He was so angry at himself! All he could think about were those bloody letters. Usually, he spent his precious time plotting his revenge for the Judge. The Judge needed to be killed but the thought of someone writing these obscene stories was really stopping him from thinking properly. How could he find out who was writing them? He scowled, knowing that there were more important things to be thinking about. Why should he let it get to him, when he had a shop to run and a murder to fulfil? He tried to think of his wife. His beautiful, blonde wife that he fell in love with and married at such a young age. The only happy memories in his life were with her and after Johanna was born his life seemed to be perfect. Ah yes, Johanna. His beautiful daughter that looked so much like Lucy even as a baby. He wondered what she was doing now and he wondered whether she was as pretty as he imagined her to be. Johanna was probably unhappy as well, just like him. She was being held captive by- in his eyes, the most despicable, detestable man in the world and maybe, he hoped, when Turpin had died, she would be able to live in happiness with Anthony for the- He sighed, stopping with his pacing.

Maybe if he read the letters he could deduce who had written them. He inwardly kicked himself for letting his mind wander off the subject of his family. But, then again, it was a good idea. He told himself that he definitely didn't want to read it because of the content of the stories, and before he knew it he was sat in his special barber chair with a handful of letters wedged beside him. He looked down at the second letter he was sent, and slowly read the first paragraph.

_''Dear Mr. S. Todd,_

_ This is the second FanFiction in this string of stories. And yes, it is also about you and a certain pie maker and it is also M rated. This story is a sequel to the last, and is about how that wild night you spent in her bedroom changed your relationship with her..._

Sweeney rolled his eyes. The writer was making it sound like it had actually happened, which was not the case!

He kept reading the rest of the paragraph. He frowned, disappointed that it didn't reveal anything about the person writing it. He went to put the letter aside, but suddenly stopped.

It wouldn't be completely wrong to read the rest of it, would it? It was a story about him, and it was intended for him to read it. He was certainly entitled to. He sat in thought for a while before beginning to read the rest of the parchment. After beginning to read the story (which was just as dirty as the last) he realised that he kind of liked it. He didn't want these things to actually happen, did he? No! Of course he didn't. He tried to tell himself that it was completely normal for a man to like reading this, no matter who the other woman was.

As the story drew to an end he realised that he had in fact started to become aroused. He suddenly felt a huge wave of guilt; he shouldn't get pleasure from reading things like this about him and his landlady! It was ludicrous. He would be loyal to his wife, even if she was dead. He shook his head to himself and got up, starting to walk to the chest to put the letters back. The fabric of his trousers rubbed against him too much, though, and he quickly realised how much pleasure the story had actually given him. Mr Todd cursed under his breath, throwing the letters out of sight and slumping back into his chair again. He leaned his head back, closing his eyes. Just one touch wouldn't hurt, would it? He hadn't had any sexual pleasure for years and he couldn't just ignore his accidental erection. He reached his hand down, unbuckling his belt and slowly moving his hand down his trousers to-

"Mr T?" Came Mrs Lovett's chirpy voice as she entered his shop.

Sweeney's hand shot back and he quickly stood up, going completely red. _Shit._

"Are you ok?" She asked, quite concerned. He had been acting rather odd lately...

"Uh. Y-Yeah, fine," he spluttered.

Nellie frowned at his reaction and then noticed that his belt was hanging loose and his trousers looked a lot tighter in_ that_ area. Her eyes shot back up again and she stared him, lightly blushing and her mouth hanging open slightly. She could obviously tell what he had been trying to do. He noticed her looking, and quickly turned around to face the window. There was then a long, awkward silence which seemed to last almost forever.

"W-What do you want?" He suddenly asked, trying to sound like nothing had happened, but failing dramatically.

"I wanted to invite you to dinner with me and Toby tonight, downstairs," she answered quietly, "but I can see that you already have plans of your own..." She smirked very slightly in amusement at her own comment.

Sweeney quickly turned around and glared at her dangerously. He had already buckled his belt back up.

"Shut up," he growled, "I have no plans for tonight,"

"Sorry. It was only a joke," she quickly said, noticing how dangerous he sounded.

Sweeney couldn't help but notice that she was wearing a brand new dress. It was a dark, blood red- his favourite colour. It almost reached the floor, and it definitely complimented her curves. It looked wonderful as it hugged her small, thin body and-

"Will you then?"

Sweeney was snapped out of his...Disturbing thoughts and blinked.

"Will I what?"

"Have dinner with me and Toby,"

"No," he bluntly replied, looking away from her.

"Oh, so you do have other plans..."

"No!" He shouted, "Fine, I will!

Mrs Lovett smiled brightly and squealed, quite childishly, going over to hug him. Her body slightly rubbed against his as she did do, causing him to make a quiet sort of hissing noise. Fortunately, she hadn't seemed to notice.

Dinner with her and Toby. Great.

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><p><strong>Thank you for getting to the bottom. I hope that you liked this chapter; sending me a review would mean the world. :)<strong>

**Follow my Sweeney Todd roleplay account on Twitter: BloodAndRazors**

**Follow my Sweeney Todd roleplay account on : SweeneyyyToddd**

**Yes, I write short chapters. Apologies.**


	3. Dinner and Another Story

Sweeney Todd quite reluctantly shuffled into Lovett's dimly lit, homely kitchen. He knew that he would have to get this over with, but he wasn't even hungry at all- he never was. Sweeney wore his usual frown as he directed his attention towards the middle of the room. There stood an old table, set with a couple of candles and a neat cloth and surrounded by three chairs. One of them was occupied by Toby.

"Where's Mrs Lovett?" He gruffly asked the young boy, making him jump.

"She's just getting the food, sir," he quietly answered, looking down at his hands and wishing that the baker wouldn't leave them alone for too long. Something about the man made Toby a little bit more wary and nervous than he usually was.

"Right," he muttered, sitting on one of the other wooden chairs. They sat in silence for a while, Toby fiddling with the bottom of his shirt and waiting uncomfortably.

"Do you know what we're having?" Sweeney suddenly asked him, after a while. Toby hadn't expected Mr Todd to start talking to him, usually he completely ignored him altogether. But still, it was only polite to give him an answer and Mrs Lovett had mentioned that she would like it if he started trying to talk to Mr Todd more..

"No. I haven't really seen her much, today,"

"You haven't?''

''Well, no.. not really. She's been preparing for tonight, ever since you said you would eat dinner with us," he said quietly, with a shrug. No answer.

"She can't stop talking about you, to be honest,"

Sweeney furrowed his brow, looking at him. Again, they sat in silence for a while, before Mrs Lovett came bustling in, holding a large tray of food, bearing three plates full of dinner and seeming very much her usual cheery self. Their businesses were now becoming so popular now that Mrs Lovett didn't have to find the cheapest things on the market to eat whenever she went shopping. Times were definitely still hard, but had drastically improved for them both recently. Not that Sweeney seemed to care much. She was quite surprised to see the moody barber at the table. Sure, he had said that he would come, but she didn't completely think that he would actually turn up. Especially after that little incident earlier on.

"Evening, love," she said, smiling at Sweeney and putting down their plates of Sunday dinner.

Sweeney looked up at her briefly, before apparently deciding that the table cloth was much more interesting to look at.

"Evening".

Mrs Lovett put the tray away and sat down opposite Sweeney and next to Toby. She gave a small sigh of relief; she hadn't managed to sit down all day because of how busy she had been cutting up bodies and making pies in the bake house.

"Toby, I forgot the knives and forks, could you be a love and go fetch them for me?" She asked the boy.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, before hurrying out of the room. Mrs Lovett looked at Sweeney.

"Good day?" She asked, trying to make conversation.

He grunted in response but she was used to him not answering her questions properly and wanted the night to be nice, so she didn't make such a fuss about it.

He noticed that she was still wearing her new red dress, and had even bothered putting a bit of makeup on, and doing her hair specially. Sweeney furrowed his brow at how he seemed to notice this.

Toby came back in not long later, and placed the knives and forks on the table.

"Should I get us some drinks out of the cabinet?" He asked her.

"Yes, actually love," she said, before looking at Sweeney, "what do you want to drink, Mr T?"

"Gin," he replied, almost immediately.

"Get us three glasses of gin then, please," she said brightly.

Toby nodded with a smile, glad that she was letting him have a drink. As instructed, he got their drinks and poured out their glasses, before sitting back down again.

"Thank you, love," she smiled. Toby sat back down.

Mrs Lovett and the young boy started to eat their dinner and seemed to be very much enjoying it as they engaged in conversation. Todd only picked at his.

"You not hungry, love?" She asked him, frowning. He shrugged, looking at his food, eating it slowly.

Mrs Lovett rolled her eyes, and sighed. "You are allowed to talk, you know."

''Nothing to talk about," Sweeney replied. He didn't look at her but she could hear the slight harshness in his voice. Mr Todd drank his gin instead of eating more, hoping that this awful dinner time with them would end soon. He wished that he hadn't agreed to it at all.

"Mum, do you need me to go to the market for you tomorrow?" Toby said after a few minutes, breaking the silence and looking up hopefully at her.

"No, we seem to have everything we need for he shop,"

"Are you sure?" He questioned, looking somewhat disappointed.

"Yes, dear,"

Mrs Lovett frowned slightly at his reaction, but decided not to take too much notice. After she and Toby had finished their dinner (the barber had left half of his), she served her and Toby a wonderful strawberry trifle. Toby wolfed his down, deciding that it was the best thing that he had ever eaten and making Mrs Lovett smile when he told her so. Still, Mr Todd sat in silence drinking more gin.

"Toby, who gave you that letter to give to me?" Sweeney very suddenly and very quietly asked the boy, not wanting Mrs Lovett to hear at all. As he had been sat watching the two smile and eat together he decided that he needed some more answers about the stories. Unfortunately though, Mrs Lovett heard him and interrupted before Toby could give him an answer.

"What letter?" She immediately interjected, curiously looking at Mr Todd. Was it something to do with when he had asked her if she had sent any letters recently?

"Nothing," Toby answered for him, before abruptly drinking his last inch on gin and standing up, "I'm going to bed, thank you for the lovely dinner."

Sweeney frowned at how suddenly he had gotten up to leave without giving him an answer. That brat! But before he could do anything about it, Toby was out of the door.

"Who's been sending you letters?" Mrs Lovett asked, getting up and piling up the plates to take out.

"Doesn't matter," Sweeney muttered, getting up and leaving the shop. Lovett frowned, unsatisfied at his answer and sad that he had also left so suddenly. She shrugged to herself, beginning to clear the table.

Nellie got up the next morning a lot earlier than usual to get the food ready for customers and to open up the shop. By mid-day, she had already sold almost three large trays of meat pies and almost all of the beer had gone. She hoped that she didn't run out of meat supply any time soon, because she sure did need it. She knew that she would be busy tonight making even more pies and she was already so tired running around for everyone. Setting two pints of beer down at a table for two gentlemen, she noticed that Toby was sat at the bottom of the steps to Mr Todd's shop, chewing the contents of a large bag of bon bons. Where had he even gotten the money to buy them in the first place? She angrily walked up to him with a faint scowl, waving a tea towel at him.

"Get up and start helping, I can't run this shop by myself!" Toby quickly nodded, shoving the sweets back into his pocket and scrambling to grab another couple of pies to serve. Mrs Lovett sighed at him, shaking her head and rubbing her forehead. She wished that she could take a break from all of this work.

"Ma'am, is Mr Todd in his shop? I need to speak to him," came a familiar voice from behind her. She turned around to be greeted by the sailor who had rescued Sweeney from his miserable years in Australia.

"Yes, he is," she answered with a polite smile, wondering whether it was something to do with Johanna again. Anthony thanked her and went to go to his shop. Mrs Lovett watched him and frowned when she realised what he was holding. A letter.

Meanwhile, Sweeney was also having a very busy and very good day of work. Underneath his barber shop was now a tremendous pile of fresh, bloody corpses. And, almost nobody had come in with their families and prevented him from ending their life! Sweeney had only just finished cleaning up the blood from his previous customer when there was another knock at the door. It was almost as if they wanted to die.

Sweeney smirked slightly at himself before calling, "come in,"

The shop door bell rang and Sweeney looked up to see Anthony stood quite nervously with his hands behind his back. Sweeney frowned, slightly disappointed.

"What do you want?"

"I've been told to give you this," he answered, holding out a letter for him. God dammit.

Sweeney slowly took it, hoping that it wasn't another M-Rated FanFiction. But, as he scanned through the first paragraph, he realised that it was from the same sender. He looked back up at Anthony, a thousand questions in his mind that he wanted to ask.

"Who told you to give me it?" He decided to start of with, scowling. The young man only gave a small shrug.

"Anthony, tell me who-" Sweeney stopped as Anthony suddenly left the shop, slamming the door shut behind him. He quickly went to go after him, but as he stood at the top of the stairs he realised that he had already managed to get away. Where were these bloody letters coming from?!

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><p><strong>Thank you for sticking with this story, guys. Please tell me what you think will happenwhat you want to happen! Who do you think is sending the letters?**

**Also, 'NV Berke' decided to make a Facebook page for this FanFic. If you search 'Sweenett FanFictions' on there, I'm sure you'll be able to find it..**


	4. Inappropriate Dreams

Mrs Lovett stood at the worktable in her shop, pounding some fresh dough with the palms of her small hands. She then moved on to using a rolling pin, beginning to roll it out into a flat shape for the pies. She frowned to herself as she worked, dwelling on the events of the past few days. She wondered why Mr T had asked her twice about letters and why he seemed to care so much, she wondered why Mr T had asked Toby who had given him the letter to give to him and she wondered why Anthony rushed up to Mr T's shop with another letter. What was the content of them and why were they being delivered to Sweeney? She rolled the dough out into the pie cases, forming the base of the food. Is it even something that she should be thinking about? Maybe it shouldn't even matter to her. As she started filling up the pies with previously-grinded human body parts, Toby entered the shop.

"Need any help, mum?" He asked with a smile, going over to her.

"I'm fine at the minute," she smiled back, looking at the small boy with adoration. She really was glad that Sweeney hadn't killed him after killing that dreadful Italian.

"Alright," he answered, sitting down at one of the booths.

Toby watched Mrs Lovett with contentment as she made the pies, humming to herself. However, she soon stopped.

"Toby, why does Mr Todd keep mentioning letters?" She suddenly asked out of nowhere.

"I don't know," he quietly answered.

This made Nellie frown.

"I'm just going out. That's alright, isn't it?" Toby said, quickly standing up.

"I want to know-"

"See you later, then!" Toby interrupted, hurrying out of the shop. Toby usually never did anything without Mrs Lovett's consent, but this time it was very important...

Sweeney was sat in his barber chair, admiring one of his silver razors. Oh, how he adored them. Just the thought of them dripping with precious rubies caused him to smirk darkly, as the small amount of London sunlight reflected off the razor's smooth surface. He almost didn't notice the knocking sound coming from the door. He knew that it was probably Mrs Lovett with a tray of dinner for him, so he didn't even bother to look as he heard the door open and the shop bell chime. He just sat thinking, tilting his 'friend' in his hand and looking at his vague reflection in the metal. After a few minutes of silence, he wouldn't why he hadn't heard her leave. He sighed.

"Mrs Lovett, what do you-" Sweeney started, averting his eyesight to her and not being able to finish his sentence.

He almost dropped his razor as he stared at her. There, stood right in front of him was Mrs Lovett dressed in nothing but a short, see-through negligee. Mrs Lovett smirked at his expression, moving closer to him. He slowly put his razor down, unable to think. She sat on his lap before he was able to argue, wrapping her slender arms around his neck.

"Mrs Lovett, what are you doing?" He asked, trying to sound threatening but only being able to talk in a quiet whisper.

She put her finger to her lips for a couple of seconds, her smirk not fading.

"Shush, love," she answered, before gently kissing him.

He couldn't help put kiss her back, and soon they were engaged into a deep kiss. However, after a few seconds he realised what he was doing and pulled away.

"Are you crazy?" He frowned, slightly louder than before. What had gotten into her?

"Crazy about you," she sweetly answered, before kissing him again.

How could this be happening?! He didn't pull away for a long while this time, until she started to unbutton his shirt. He grabbed her wrists and his dark eyes locked with hers.

"No," he sternly told her, trying to ignore the growing lump in his trousers.

"Little Sweeney doesn't seem like he wants me to stop," she innocently answered.

He sighed, undoing the buttons himself. She gave a triumphant smirk and began to kiss his neck, causing him to throw his head back. She smiled slightly, and ran her hand down his chest, then gently nipped at his neck.

"Mrs Lovett.." He groaned loudly.

"Mr T?"

Sweeney's eyes shot back open and met hers. She was stood in the seemingly greyer room with a tray full of his dinner, frowning down at him because of the tone of his voice.

He quickly sat up properly and folded his arms over the uncomfortable hardness that the bloody dream had made.

"Y-Yeh?" He stammered, staring at her and turning a light shade of red.

"Are you ok?" She asked him, concerned. She kept frowning at him.

He nodded quickly, looking away.

"Why did you say my name?" She asked him. Had he been dreaming about her?

He didn't answer her, wishing that she hadn't heard him and hoping that she wouldn't think he was having an erotic dream about her. Which he regrettably was.

"Well, I brought you your dinner," she said with a shrug, looking down at the tray.

"Just put it on the chest," he says, quietly.

She nodded, and put the tray on the chest in the corner. Sweeney was still red and not looking at her, sitting stiffly. She took one last glance at him again before leaving.

Sweeney loudly cursed, covering his face with his hands. He stayed like that for a while, too embarrassed to do anything. He told himself that he wasn't attracted to her and that the dream was only because he had read those letters. But as he thought about it, he became not so sure...

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><p><strong>This chapter's a bit shorter tan the rest, but I wanted it to end there. This chapter's quite dramatic. Anyway, I think that this is about as smutty as it will get. Hahaha, sorry.<strong>


	5. Delousing Treatment

Sweeney opened the shop up and it wasn't long until he had gotten his first customer. He smirked to himself as he welcomed the man, hoping that today was going to be very busy. He needed something to distract himself from thinking about the pie maker and luckily, because her shop had recently gotten more popular, so had his. Mr Todd took the man's coat from him and offered him a seat in the 'death chair', before unfolding his beloved 'friend' and watching the customer sit down.

"The usual shave, sir?"

"No, I want the delousing treatment," said the man as he saw the demon barber take out his trusty razor.

"The what?" Asked Sweeney, his usual frown becoming more apparent.

"Delousing treatment. The one advertised on your poster,"

"What poster?"

"The one outside of your shop," he answered, "is there a problem, sir?"

Sweeney kept frowning down at the customer.

"I am sorry, but I do not rid lice from people's hair,"

Why had the man asked that? He certainly had not put up a poster outside! Why would he even give a delousing treatment? What did that entail?

"Oh. I suppose I'll just have a shave then," the man said, looking somewhat disappointed and annoyed.

Sweeney nodded, still scowling, and began to give the man a regular shave. Soon, he had slit his throat and stomped on the metal pedal beside the chair, causing him to slide down into the bake house and meet his untimely death. After this, of course, he left his shop to see whether or not there was in fact a poster about delousing treatment. Yes. There, at the bottom of the stairs, was a brightly coloured advertisement.

_"Come to Sweeney Todd's Tonsorial Parlour now for a magnificent shave, or (if you are in need) for the all new delousing treatment!"_

Sweeney angrily groaned, ripping the poster down and storming into Mrs Lovett's pie shop.

The room seemed to be empty apart from the baker working. All of the customers where outside, then. And they had probably all seen that damn poster.

"What is this?!" He demanded, holding the paper up in front of her as she made more pies at her counter.

Mrs Lovett looked up and furrowed her eyebrows as she read the large text.

"A poster, by the look of it. Why the hell have you started giving a delousing treatment?"

"I haven't! I did not make this poster, Mrs Lovett," he growled in annoyance, slamming it down onto the counter.

"Are you saying that somebody else did? Why would they do that?"

Sweeney rolled his eyes, obviously not knowing the answer himself.

"Well, I need to get back to work and you probably do, as well," she said, shrugging, "let's just hope that nobody else has seen it,"

Sweeney stood glaring at her for a few seconds as she carried on calmly filling up some pies. Damn, she infuriated him. The barber went back upstairs and carried on working.

Sure enough, by the time he had closed the shop, another four people had asked him for the treatment. He sat down in his chair with a sigh of relief after the busy day. It was the first time he had sat down all day because of how many customers he had gotten. He looked out of the dull, grimy window from where he was sat and soon, the thought of Mrs Lovett began to drift into his mind again. Ever since he had read those damn letters, he seemed to be fantasising a lot about her. And that was completely terrible- he hated himself for it! He wished that nobody had ever written them. He scratched his head as he kept thinking. The damn women had probably put the poster up. He didn't know why she would, though.

Sweeney decided that he needed to clear his head, and he never usually did, but that night he decided to try and get some sleep in his bedroom.

The next morning, Sweeney got up, before scratching his head. That's when a sudden thought came to mind. He remembered about how that first FanFiction he received was about what would happen if Sweeney's shop became infested. God damn it. She had probably written the letters and purposely put the posters up!

After he quickly dressed, he stormed out of his room to go to Mrs Lovett. When he found her, she was curled up her chair in the living room. Her hair was wet from the bath she had probably just taken and she was wearing maybe only her nightgown. However he ignored this, too angry to care.

"You did put the poster up!" He accused, scratching his head again.

"Why would I do that?" She frowned, putting her book down and wondering why he was so angry.

"Who else would do it?" He glared at her.

"I certainly did not, Mr T!" She shouted back, angry that she was being accused of something she didn't do. She frowned when she saw him roughly scratch his head yet again and begin to pace.

"Have you got lice?" She suddenly asked, narrowing her eyes at his hair.

Sweeney stopped and looked at her. his eyes going slightly wider.

"I don't know," he answered after a while, his anger starting to wear off.

Mrs Lovett stood up and walked over to him. Sweeney took a step back.

"What are you doing?"

"I need to check if you have lice, love,"

"It might just be an itch," he frowned, watching her.

"No, no, I need to check," she insisted, putting her hands on her hips, "did you sit in your chair after your customer did?"

Sweeney nodded, annoyed at himself for being so stupid to have done so. Mrs Lovett tutted and went off to rummage through her cupboard.

After a while, Sweeney was sat in a chair and Mrs Lovett was stood over him, pulling through his tangled hair with a weird sort of comb. Sweeney swore multiple times at how rough she was being, but she was still annoyed at him accusing her of putting the advertisement up.

"Damn it, women!" He hissed at the pain.

"It's not my fault you never brush it!" She snapped back, putting a small amount of weird liquid into his hair.

"It wouldn't hurt you to be a bit more gentle!"

After a while, she asked, "did you sleep in your bed last night?" As she rubbed the liquid into his hair and did what he said by being less rough.

"Yes, why?" He asked, hating to admit to himself that he loved the feel of her hands running through his hair.

"You won't be able to sleep in your bed again until your sheets and pillows are rid of the lice, then," she answered, gently massaging the oil into his head.

"I'll sleep in the chair," he replied, trying to forget that she was only wearing her nightgown.

"You can't until that's rid of the lice, as well,"

Sweeney suddenly looked up at her.

"You'll have to sleep down here or something," she casually said.

Sweeney's jaw dropped. That was exactly what had happened in that first FanFiction.

* * *

><p><strong>Yet again, thank you for getting to the bottom of this chapter. I hope you liked it, blah, blah, blah...<strong>

**I decided to upload this one a day earlier to compensate for how short the chapters are. I hope it doesn't annoy you guys.**

**As always, please feel free to leave a review.**


	6. Drinking Game

"What do you mean sleep down here?!" Sweeney argued, his face looking horrified.

"You can't go in your shop or in your bedroom until tomorrow. I'll delouse them a bit later,"

Mrs Lovett finished massaging the liquid into his scalp and ran the fine-toothed comb through his hair once again. It didn't get as tangled this time.

"Where can I sleep, then? Toby sleeps on the sofa," he pointed out.

Mrs Lovett sat in front of him and shrugged.

"We'll think of something. I need to wash your hair, now,"

"I am quite capable of washing my own hair, Mrs Lovett," he answered through gritted teeth, narrowing his eyes at her and trying not to focus on the dressing gown that was still sticking to her slightly damp skin from the bath she had previously had.

She sighed.

"I know that, but I need to ensure that your hair is lice free,"

"Fine, whatever,"

"Wait there. I won't be long," she smiled at him before getting up and going to her bedroom to get dressed.

Sweeney rolled his eyes, sitting back in his seat. He knew that the delousing treatment and the letters were probably linked together somehow. The writer must have written the story (where the shop had become infested and he had to share a room with her) and put up that stupid advertisement in attempt to make the it actually happen. But, why would somebody put all that effort into trying to get them together?

He still had a very large suspicion that it was Mrs Lovett. Sweeney folded his arms and tried to think of another plan to get proof of this accusation. He didn't want to ask her and for it to not be her and then have to give her the letters to read. He scowled to himself as he remembered that in the letter, Mrs Lovett had washed his hair for him. Great.

A while later, Sweeney had his head tipped over the metal bath tub in the bake house and Mrs Lovett was washing his black mop of hair.

"Mr. T?" Asked Mrs Lovett, breaking the silence after a while.

"Hmm?"

"Why has Toby been acting weird lately?"

"What do you mean?" He asked, frowning slightly. She hadn't asked that in the story.

"He's just been acting a bit suspicious, is all. Suddenly having money without me giving it to him, going outside a lot..."

"Most young boys go outside a lot," he argued, before she could continue any further..

"Yeh, but it's different,"

Sweeney didn't say anything as Mrs Lovett sighed, rinsing his hair one final time.

"Good God, your hair really is a mess," the baker muttered to herself as her slim fingers got entangled into his thick hair.

"And yours isn't?"

"It certainly isn't as bad as yours," she answered, offended.

"I beg to differ,"

"You're a barber!" She snapped, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at the back of his head.

"Don't need to do my hair. Don't have time to," he shrugged, with no expression whatsoever. He knew that he was annoying her and he was rather enjoying it.

"The nerve of him!" She thought, "that bloody man spends his time brooding about things from years and years ago, things that he can't possibly change, and he can't even find the smallest amount of time to actually run a brush through his hair!? It's stupid!"

"You have plenty of time; you just choose to waste it on people that you will never get back! Why can't you just move on, you stupid man?" She shouted loudly back at him.

She knew that she was overreacting, but he really was aggravating her! She kept her eyes narrowed on him. However, when he turned around to darkly and dangerously glare at her, she instantly regretted saying anything at all. Her previous hard expression was suddenly replaced with a flash of fear and worry. She even flinched as she waited for cold metal to come into contact with her pale neck. But the razor didn't come.

"M-Mr T, I'm sorry," she said after she had realised that she had definitely said the wrong thing. But Sweeney sat scarily still, not averting his eyes at all. Nellie stood frozen, waiting for him to snap at her or do something else of the sort. But he didn't.

Instead, he just slowly got up and grabbed the towel to dry his hair with. He looked away.

"I'm going to get a drink," he answered, leaving the bake house and leaving her on her own.

Mrs Lovett's lip trembled slightly as she stood there without him. It wasn't long later until she began to wonder why he was taking so long. She decided to go and see where he was and she really hoped that he hadn't gone back to his shop.

"Mr T?" She called, wondering into her pie shop. He was sat with a bottle of gin and a tumbler, his hair still damp. Toby was in a different booth and he seemed to be out cold. He had probably been drinking too much alcohol again.

Sweeney didn't look at her. Instead, he stared blankly at his half-full glass, not saying a word.

Mrs Lovett sighed and went to fetch herself her own tumbler before sitting next to the psychotic barber.

"I had to take the bottle off Toby," he said, his voice still and low.

Mrs Lovett nodded, filling up her tumbler with the translucent liquid. She was quite surprised that he had actually said something.

"Are you already on your second glass?" She asked, a faint frown appearing.

"Maybe," he said with a shrug, finishing the remains.

"You don't want to end up like Toby,"

"I won't," he mumbled, filling up his glass again.

"Whatever you say,"

Then came another long silence. Mrs Lovett didn't mind it, though. She was just pleased that he wasn't too angry. She was quite content with sitting in silence as she was at least having a drink with him. She never even got to speak to him unless she was taking food up to his shop for him, and those conversations were usually heavily one-sided anyway.

By the time Sweeney has finished his fifth tumbler and poured his sixth, Mrs Lovett had only just finished her second.

"You trying to get drunk or something?" She asked, arching an eyebrow.

Sweeney shook his head, filling up her glass for her.

"You drink slow, pet," he stated, glancing up at the baker.

"You're drinking too fast,"

"Am not," he answered, although there was a slight slur to his voice and he probably was now starting to get drunk.

Mrs Lovett raised the glass to her plump lips, taking a tentative sip.

"Down it," dared Sweeney suddenly, watching the woman.

"I'm not downing it, love,"

"Do it,"

Mrs Lovett looked at him for a few seconds before a small smirk played on her lips. She drank all of the liquid in one gulp and pulled a face as it burned her throat. But, she slammed the glass back down onto the table.

"There," she said, looking quite satisfied with herself.

Sweeney raised an eyebrow, before downing his as well.

"Not bad. But not a good as me," she joked with a slight laugh.

"I'm not 'aving a drinking com'tition with woman, Lovett," he slurred.

"It's fine, I'd win anyway,"

Sweeney glowered at her, filling up her glass again.

"Yah wouldn't,"

"Prove it,"

"Fine,"

After about half an hour and another bottle of gin later, Sweeney and Nellie were definitely and absolutely intoxicated. Sweeney had completely forgotten everything and he was actually kind of enjoying his time with Mrs Lovett. But most importantly, Sweeney had completely forgotten about how they had both gotten drunk before going to the bedroom in the FanFiction...


	7. Hangover

The barber gave a throaty groan as he woke up the next morning, and unrelenting misery of a headache making him feel like death. Saliva covered his cheek and the table underneath him, which his head and arms were sprawled across. He forced himself to sit up, which actually caused some relief from the back pain which his awkward sleeping position had caused. He couldn't actually remember what had happened the night before, but he did know that he had what felt like the world's worst hangover. He squinted at the bright sunlight illuminating the room, realising that he was in Mrs Lovett's shop.

"Afternoon," Mrs Lovett grumbled, her usual cheery tone absent as she sat slumped in a chair opposite him.

She looked just as bad as he did; he circles underneath her eyes more prominent and her hair even messier than usual. Sweeney wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pushed back his hair which was stuck to his damp forehead. He tries to remember what had happened he previous night, but his memory was blurred. Then he remembered the FanFiction and that in it, Mr Todd had woken up in her bed. And, that hadn't happened! He was in her pie shop; the same place where they had been drinking. Sweeney frowned. It was strange, he had mixed feelings about it. He was relieved that not everything in the letter had happened; annoyed at himself for drinking so much alcohol, but kind of... Disappointed, maybe?

He tried to push the feeling away, and looked down at his crumpled, slept-in clothes. He realised that his cravat seemed to have been flung across the shop floor and his shirt buttons were completely undone. Oh. Maybe that inferred something. He gave a dramatic sigh. Why the hell had he gotten that drunk?! Damn. He didn't want to even look at alcohol again.

Mrs Lovett hadn't seemed to notice his sigh or his unbuttoned shirt. Her eyes were closed and she was rubbing her aching forehead, giving Sweeney some time to quickly cover his chest back up. He scanned the room, his eyes still not fully focused because of how ill he felt. He felt so queasy and his mouth even tasted unpleasantly like vomit. He noticed that Toby wasn't in the room, he must have woken up.

"We were meant to open our shops three hours ago,"

"That's not happening today," Sweeney muttered, wanting nothing more than to go and have a bath.

"Ugh. How much did we even drink?" Asked Mrs Lovett, opening her eyes again and looking at the empty bottles of alcohol littering the floor. The shop looked even messier than usual; a lot of the equipment from Nellie's pie-making counter had seemed to have been knocked off and part of the floor was questionably wet.

"Too much, evidently."

He slowly stood up, having to lean against the table to stop himself from falling because of how disorientated and dizzy he felt.

"I'm going to bathe," he said, managing to make his way to the door. Mrs Lovett didn't look pleased with him at all.

"Be quick. You're helping me tidy the shop when you're done. It wasn't only me who caused all of this mess," she answered, crossing her arms and scowling. Sweeney flinched as she raised her voice, knowing that arguing with her would only make his hangover worse.

"Alright, fine."

After Sweeney had vomited a few times, had been washed and was wearing clean clothes, he returned to her pie shop. He was feeling much better but there was still a dull aching in his head. Mrs Lovett had gotten out some sponges, a bucket of soapy water, a mop and a broom. She had also changed her clothes and wasn't looking as bad as she had done before. Mr Todd really didn't feel like doing any cleaning, though.

"You can start by cleaning the windows," she told him, beginning to mop up the floor.

"I didn't even cause that," he argued, disgruntled.

"It needs doing."

Sweeney stood glowering at her for a few seconds, before slowly getting to work, rolling up his sleeves and beginning to wash the windows with the soapy water.

"You know, recently Mrs Mooney has been asking me a lot of questions," Mrs Lovett said suddenly, trying to make conversation with him. She may have been feeling more ill than she'd ever felt before, but she still took up the chance to talk to her accomplice.

"Questions?" He asked, although he didn't sound interested in the slightest.

"Yes," he continued nonetheless, "she's been asking me how you are, what you've been doing lately and such,"

"Why? I don't know her," he grumbled, scrubbing at a particularly difficult stain on the window glass.

Sweeney had heard Mrs Lovett moaning about Mrs Mooney a lot before. He didn't know much about her apart from all the negative opinions Nellie seemed to have about her (and of course about the pies being made out of cats), but he had seen her in the courtyard of Mrs Lovett' pie shop, eating pies and socialising. As Sweeney stood outside his shop above the stairs waiting for a customer, he remembered how Mrs Lovett would seem so pleased to see her and they would talk to each other like they were each other's favourite person. But whenever Mrs Mooney wasn't there, she would always moan about how much she spreads gossip and how much of an old bat she is. Women were strange.

"I know," she answered with a shrug. Sweeney looked at her, thinking. He had ever even spoken to Mrs Mooney before.

"Do you ever talk to Mrs Mooney about me?"

"Um, no," she answered, although the slight pinkness of her cheeks made him believe otherwise.

He looked at her as she bent down to pick up a few bottles scattered across the floor. He watched as some of her red curls fell loose to frame her slim face, and as her dark dress pooled around her as her pale arms collected the bottles, her breasts practically spilling out of her dress...

"Good afternoon," came Toby's cheery voice, snapping him out of his thoughts as he quickly averted his eyes from her to look at the young brunette boy. How could a child be so happy after also drinking too much the day before?

"Afternoon," smiled Mrs Lovett as she straightened herself up, disposing of the empty bottles of alcohol. Toby's face fell.

"Did you drink all of the gin?" He frowned, as Sweeney started washing a different window, irritated at himself for having these kind of thoughts seemingly all of the time.

"She drank most of it," Mr Todd muttered, although he didn't know this for sure. Nellie ignored his comment.

"I woke up this morning and you two were sleeping at the tables. Must have been one hell of a night," he said with a grin, making Sweeney frown deeply.

"Watch your language," she scolded him, gently nudging his arm as she walked past him to get the mop.

"Sorry, mum," he apologised, "is that why you haven't opened up the shop?"

"Yes, dear," she sighed, wishing that he would stop asking these questions.

"Don't worry, I cut myself some bread this morning because you weren't awake to feed me. Too busy with Mr Todd, I saw," Toby gave a sly grin at them both as they stared at him, before leaving the room without another word. Usually Toby wouldn't have dared make a snide comment like that; what was he even thinking? He was only a young boy and those comments hadn't sounded innocent at all. Mrs Lovett cleared her throat after a few seconds.

"Told you he's acting weird," she said, before going back to mopping the floor.

* * *

><p><strong>I mentioned that Mrs Mooney was at Mrs Lovett's pie shop for dinner or whatever. Yes, I realise that she'd actually be tending to her own shop. Ignore that..<strong>

**But, anyway, I really hope that you enjoy this chapter- as usual. The idea of Sweeney with a hangover is hilarious to me.. XD**


	8. Confessions

Despite hacking up bodies for a man she was so desperately in love with and selling human meat to her friends and customers; Nellie did love working in her pie shop. Business had now been booming with her and Mr Todd's joint business and she was making more money than she ever had done before. Buying things at the market didn't seem like such a chore as it used to. She could now afford dresses that she had once been only admiring through shop windows, not having to worry about money.

It was sick, really. It was sick how she only had all of these nice things for breaking the law. Her shop used to be known for selling 'the worst pies in London', but now that she used human flesh as the filler people seemed to adore her cooking a whole lot more. Breaking the law at such an extreme length was not something Nellie Lovett would have ever even dreamed of doing. She wasn't going to stop, though. She still had a small inkling of hope that maybe one day, the man who she had fallen so hopelessly in love with would realise that maybe he should move on. As she had reminded him before, life is for the alive, and he shouldn't waste his time away on somebody who can never return when she was stood right there. She would cover up his murders for him and ensure him a place to stay free of charge. But, all he ever did was ignore her. He would accept her food and a roof over his head without a single 'thank you,' and pretend like she doesn't even exist.

But, recently, things had been somewhat different. Mr Todd had been different. As she hacked one of his recently deceased customers two days after her and the barber had their little drinking competition, she mentally recalled everything that had happened recently. How he had suddenly tensed up whenever she had entered his shop, how she walked in on him with his... well, hands down his pants, how he might have actually been dreaming about her, and how she kept hearing him mention those damn letters. It seemed like everybody around her knew about those letters, apart from her. She sighed deeply as her meat cleaver got stuck in a rather overweight man's leg as she tried to cut through it. With a lot of effort, she managed to yank it back out again. Another thing she couldn't get her head around was how somebody had put that poster advertising a delousing treatment outside of his shop. Who the hell had done that, and, more importantly, why? It baffled her. She wanted some answers, but she knew that Mr Todd would certainly not give her any.

After Mrs Lovett had finished chopping up the bodies and grinding up their meat for the pies she would cook and sell the next day, she scrubbed her hands clean and changed into her night clothes and a dressing gown. She had been down in the bakehouse for a very long time, and it was getting very late. However, she hadn't eaten anything since midday, and she was getting rather hungry. She pulled her gown tighter around herself and went into the pantry, wanting to make herself a quick meal. She shrieked loudly when she saw a dark figure in the corner of the room, and threw her hand over her mouth when she realised that it was only the barber.

"Damnit, woman!" Sweeney exclaimed after jumping quite dramatically at her loud noise. He made a growling sound because she had startled him so much, and grabbed the tea that he had come downstairs to get.

"I-Im sorry, love. Y'just gave me a fright, you did,"

After her quickly beating heart went back to its usual pace, she went to the bread bin so that she could make herself a jam sandwich.

"Ran out of tea. I'm going to have to go the market tomorrow," he muttered gruffly with his usual scowl gracing his features, heading for the door.

Mrs Lovett nodded, still feeling embarrassed as she began to make her dinner. Sweeney left hastily and went back upstairs, leaving Mrs Lovett to be with her thoughts again. She made herself a drink and went into her shop, sitting down with her food. That's when a brilliant idea came to her mind. Not as brilliant of an idea as cooking the barber's customers into meat pies, but brilliant nonetheless. What if she was to sneak into his shop whilst he was at work the following day? She could have a look around and see if he had been hiding these letters, and if she was to find them, she could even read them and see what they're about and who they're from! She smirked to herself, and after she finished her jam sandwich, she went to bed, excited about her plan.

Mrs Lovett was in an extremely good mood the following day, even after waking up very early in the morning. She bustled around the courtyard of her shop, serving customers and chatting with her friends as they ate the best pies in London. She watched man after man go into Sweeney's shop for a shave, hardly any of them coming back out again. It was astounding how ignorant the people of London were. Too busy eating to even realise the dark happenings of the shop upstairs. She was looking forward to Sweeney going out to buy some tea at the market, although somewhat apprehensive about what she might read if she were to find the letters. She hoped that the letters would explain the delousing treatment.

Towards the end of the day, more and more people began to big Mrs Lovett a good night and leave her shop. Toby had been helping her all day, but he had gone back inside to have a bath. When her shop finally closed, she started wiping tables in the courtyard outside, keeping an eye on Sweeney's shop door. After fifteen minutes, Nellie had began to think about going back inside again. Perhaps Mr Todd had changed his mind and had decided to go to the market tomorrow instead. However, a small smirk appears on her face as she heard the barber's footsteps coming down the shop stairs. She acted like she hadn't noticed, scrubbing at a bench even though she had already cleaned it three times whilst she had been waiting. Sweeney didn't say anything to her. He merely looked at her and walked past, heading down Fleet Street and to St Dunstan's

Sweeney's shop door flew open when Mrs Lovett entered, and her eyes scanned the room. She had used her spare set of keys to unlock the door. The shop was very bare, so she doubted that this would take very long at all. She first went to his vanity and rummaged through all of his things there. Different bottles of cologne, a picture frame, his precious box of razors, his shaving soap, his wallet... She frowned faintly when she didn't find anything, and neatly arranged his things back to how they were. Hm. Where else could they be? She turned around from the vanity and her eyes almost immediately fell upon the large chest in the corner of the room.

Sweeney stopped in his tracks less that a minute after he had left the shop. He patted his gloved hands over his jacket and trouser pockets. Damnit. He'd forgotten his wallet. He scowled in frustration, turning back and feeling very stupid for doing so. He always had his wallet on him, and yet he hadn't at that moment. He shook his head to himself and went back up the familiar shop stairs. However, oddly, the shop door was already open ajar. He could have sworn that he had locked it; he hadn't forgotten that too, had he? What was wrong with him?

He stepped into the room and his mouth opened slightly in surprise when he saw the baker rummaging through the chest of letters.

"What the hell are you doing, Mrs Lovett?" He asked lowly and dangerously, striding over to the chest and immediately pushing her away from it before she could read anything else. Luckily, it seemed like she hadn't read anything at all yet.

"I-I was... just collecting your dirty washing," her cheeks went a shade of pink after she told this blatant lie, and she avoided looking at him.

"You never collect any of my dirty washing. I always send it down to the bakehouse," he shot back. He didn't move from his position in front of the old chest, looking as if he was guarding it.

Mrs Lovett opened her mouth to argue back, but, instead, she just sighed.

"Fine. I just wanted to know about the letters, alright?" She fiddled with her hands, only looking at the floor as she hoped that he wouldn't get too angry with her to do anything rash.

Sweeney swallowed, before quietly asking- as if he didn't know what she meant, "letters?"

"Y'just kept mentioning some letters, and I... I want to know who they're from and what they're about. You can't deny that you 'ave any, because I just saw them,"

Sweeney felt his head spinning as he pulled his eyes away from her. He definitely knew that he couldn't deny it, and that he was going to have to tell her sooner or later anyway. He very slowly and very hesitantly opened up the lid, his heart beating fast.

"Maybe... maybe you should sit down for this,"


	9. Showing Mrs Lovett

The demon barber of Fleet Street stood impatiently at the window. He was usually grateful for the moments of silence with Mrs Lovett, but at that particular moment, he was feeling very uncomfortable as he stood with his hands behind his back, waiting for the baker to finish reading one of those damn letters. He couldn't believe that he was actually allowing her to read erotic fiction about the two of them. He stared blankly at the dirty glass, having no idea how she was going to react. She'd feel scandalised, probably. Disgusted. And, what if- worst of all, she thought that he had written it?

"Well," came Mrs Lovett's voice after she quietly cleared her throat. Sweeney looked at her faint reflection in the window, staying completely silent and still. Tension was clear in the lines of his shoulders, but he tried to seem calm.

"That was... interesting," she breathed, her cheeks flushed as she slowly looked up at her accomplice. "Why would somebody write that about us?"

Sweeney rolled his eyes. That was the exact same question that he had asked when he read one of the letters for the first time. And, it was the same question that he had been asking himself for days, now. Mrs Lovett wasn't surprised when she didn't get an answer from him; she looked back down at the parchment in her hands. She remembered how Anthony had recently delivered a letter to Mr Todd, which caused her to brows to furrow.

"Toby delivered a letter here, too," he said, almost as if he knew what she was thinking.

"Somebody must've hired them to send the letters 'ere,"

"What if the boy wrote them?"

"Which one?" Mrs Lovett stood up, her frown reflecting the one he wore so often as she folded her arms, "don't be stupid,"

Sweeney shot her a glare for the insult, but soon looked away again when he realised that he couldn't properly look at her anymore without disturbing thoughts flooding his mind. Bloody FanFiction.

"These stories are disgusting. Each one is a more ludicrous than the last. You know, in one of them-"

"You've read more than one?" She cut him off, although not sounding as angry as he thought she would have been.

Silence.

"Mr T?"

"I.. thought that if I read them, I'd be able to find some clues about who had written them," he slowly answered, now trying to be more careful with his words. His face was red, his palms were sweating and he was now beginning to regret telling her about the letters in the first place.

"How many have you read?" She asked, her voice quiet as she walked to stand behind him. If this had happened to any other woman, she's sure that they'd be disgusted to find out that he hadn't stopped reading as soon as he had realised what the stories were about. However, Mr Todd seeming so eager to read intimate stories about them both made her unbelievably happy and hopeful. She somehow thought that 'to try and work out who wrote them' wasn't the only reason why he'd been so keen on reading them.

"A few. Maybe more," he frowned, feeling angry towards her for making him admit it and towards himself for reading more than one, "I still haven't worked out who's written them, though,"

Mrs Lovett only nodded.

"The first one mentioned a delousing treatment," he said, finally turning around and intending to go the chest to retrieve the letter that he was speaking about. He then realised how close Mrs Lovett was stood to him, and he stopped what he was doing almost immediately. His eyes met hers and they stood like that for what seemed like a minute, both of their hearts still beating faster than usual. Mrs Lovett was completely still, not wanting to ruin the strange moment by stupidly moving or saying something.

"...and a drinking game," he finished, breaking their eye contact and the silence. He went to the chest, frowning. Mrs Lovett blinked and she watched him as he filed through the pile of letters, somewhat stunned by the small encounter that they just shared. Her mind begins to wonder if him challenging her to a drinking game was anything to do with how they had one before they... well, slept together in the story. She clears her head of these thoughts, not wanting to get her hopes up too much. He soon found the first letter and handed it to her, before going back to his place at the window. It was almost completely dark outside, but he needed something to concentrate on that wasn't her.

After Mrs Lovett had scanned through the explicit letter quickly, not wanting him to think that she was reading it all, she cleared her throat and finally spoke again, "the writer of the stories put the delousing treatment sign up?"

"Hm," he answered, which she supposed meant 'yes'.

"Sweenett? Is that some odd combination of our names?" When he didn't answer her, she looked away from him, "I suppose we should go downstairs and ask Toby about it. Then, we can get a final answer,"

Sweeney nodded, feeling an odd mix of emotions and not knowing what to do about them. He was glad, however, that they were going to get their answer. As soon as he found out all of the answers that he needed to about the letters, he'd be able to continue plotting his revenge and forget about all that's happening between him and Mrs Lovett. Won't he?

"He'll probably be out of the bath by now. Come on," she said, touching his arm. Sweeney turned around from the window and glanced at the razor lying on his vanity. Mrs Lovett noticed this.

"Y'won't need the razor, love. I'm sure he'll tell us, and it's not like he knows what they're about,"

"Fine," he answered gruffly, walking past her and out of the shop without bothering to wait for her to catch up. Mrs Lovett shut the door behind them and followed him down the stairs.

When she entered her pie shop, Mr Todd was already looking around for him.

"Toby?" She called, without getting an answer.

"Where is he?"

"I'll find him. I don't think he'll have gone out to play with his friends this late. One minute," she answered, before disappearing out to go and search in the living room.

Sweeney sighed and watched her leave, waiting for Mrs Lovett's return with the damn boy and beginning to pace. He ran through his mind what he was going to say to Toby, what he was going to ask him. He needed to know who had written the 'FanFictions', and he needed to know why they had done it. It wasn't some weird scheme to set him and his landlady up, was it? Why would anybody care about their love life, anyway? He hadn't even thought about what he was going to do to the person who wrote them, yet. He'd probably need his razor.

"I don't know where he is; I checked in the bake house as well."

It was evident that she was worried about his reaction to this. He stopped pacing and slowly turned to her, his eyes narrowed.

"He's not here? I need to know who wrote them!"

"Love, calm down. I'm sure he'll be back soon. You should wait down here for a bit. He won't be out long; he knows to be home when it gets dark outside."

Mr Todd agreed to this, although rather hesitantly- he was reluctant to be alone in a room with her after he'd shown her letters like that, but he wanted answers as soon as possible. What a bloody stressful day.

And, he hadn't even ended up buying his tea.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for bearing with the story.<strong>

**I hope you all had a merry Christmas, and thanks for reading. :)**


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